


Time-Travel is not for Amateurs

by LectorEl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Damian grew up to be less of an utter shit than he was at ten, Gen, Tim is tiny and adorable, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That one time a Damian from an alternate future decided make things better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Itty-Bitty and the Fellow Stalker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cluelessnu](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cluelessnu/gifts).



“Not there, the brick’s weak,” A boy said from behind him. Tim startled, and would have fallen off the ledge entirely if the speaker hadn’t caught him.

Tim stared at the teenager. He looked like Bruce Wayne, but not. His eyes were a darker, richer blue than Bruce’s, and his skin had a gold-olive tone to it Bruce Wayne could never achieve.

“Who are you?” Tim asked, staring in fascination. The teen clicked his tongue, smirking.

“Nobody in particular- just another stalker.” He bent down and ruffled Tim’s hair. “Honor among thieves, you understand?”

Tim smiled hesitantly, and nodded. There were years of lessons about not trusting strangers running through his head, but that was for adults, wasn’t it? And anyway, he was being nice. People weren’t nice to Tim very much.

“Sure,” Tim agreed. The teen gave him an approving look.

“Want to get out of the cold?” The older boy offered. “I know a cheap diner not far from here.”

“…That’d be nice,” Tim said. Caution could wait until later.

***

Damian looped an arm around Tim’s stomach, using his single free hand to steer the motorcycle. _(“You’ll get yourself killed doing that,” Tim sighed in his mind)_ Tim all but cooed. Good to know his love of high speeds had developed early. Damian couldn’t resist the urge to show off, just a little. It was Tim. _Travel sized_. How could he not?

By the time they arrived, several minutes later than strictly necessary, Tim was smiling, bright and unrestrained, and he took Damian’s hand without a moment’s hesitation. Damian smiled back, and led him to the spinning stools at the counter. He’d loved those things back when he was ten, no matter how hard he tried to hide it from Tim. It was only fair he share the fun.

“Chicken sandwich for me, French fries for itty-bitty here,” Damian jerked his thumb at Tim, making the boy pout. For the sixth time in a half-hour, Damian resisted the urge to hug him till he squeaked.

How had Father ever been afraid of this boy? How could he have ever seen the devotion shining in his eyes and turn him away? Damian didn’t understand it. Damian had _never_ understood it, only accepted, gratefully, that Tim’s affections were his alone.

“How old are you?” Tim asked, a thoughtful look in his eyes. Damian smothered a nostalgic sigh. He’d been made, at least a little. Tim at nine was turning out much like Tim at twenty.

“Sixteen,” Damian shared. Or two, if you considered his younger self. Poor little brat. If Damian did this right, who knows when he’d meet Tim. Or even if he would.

“…Bruce would have been twenty when you were conceived.” Tim giggled a little when Damian choked on his sandwich.

“That obvious?” If it was anyone other than Tim, Damian would’ve had to shoot himself out of embarrassment.

Tim shrugged. “Kinda. We were both watching the same people, and you have his…” Tim gestured vaguely in the general direction of Damian’s face and shoulders.

Damian shook his head. “You are something else, Bitty.”

***

The older boy dropped Tim off at the bus stop at five AM with a cheerful promise to ‘catch you around sometime soon, Bitty!’ Tim smiled to himself, hugging the motorcycle helmet to his chest. He’d made a friend. A kind of weird one, but definitely a friend. _A friend with a **motorcycle**_ , a childish part of him cheered.

This was one of the best days of his life. Maybe even better than meeting Dick at the circus.


	2. Itty-Bitty and the Fall

Tim heard somebody knock on his window.

“Dami!” He whispered excitedly, sliding out of bed hurriedly and scrambling to open the window. The older boy swung into Tim’s bedroom easily. He tousled Tim’s hair, almost absentmindedly.

“Hello, Itty-bitty.” Dami grinned when Tim threw a pen at him, and caught it easily. He tucked it behind his ear.

“Jerk,” Tim grumbled halfheartedly.

“Learned from the best,” Dami agreed. He scanned Tim’s room.

“Hey, Bitty,” he says thoughtfully. “Ever try building a secret compartment for your photos?” Tim shook his head. “We should do that then. Can you get the housekeeper to take the weekend off?”

“I can do that.” Tim looked up at Dami. “Does that mean you’ll be here during the day?”

“Yep. We finish early, and I’ll show you that nerve strike you were interested in.”

Tim hugged Dami impulsively, and dashed to the bathroom to change. He mentally reviewed Dami’s rules: dark clothes, heavy fabrics, loose fitting. Boots with good traction.

“Ready to go, bitty?” Dami called through the door. Tim hurriedly knotted his boot laces and half hopped, half tripped out the door.

“Ready!” Tim chirped, flushing. Dami shook his head and crawled out the window. Tim followed him, using the rope they’d anchored on a discreet spot on the roof to rappel down. Dami tossed him his helmet. Tim caught it easily, smiling at the evidence of his improved hand-eye coordination.

“Where to tonight?” Dami asked. Tim fumbled with the comm. for a moment before he finally managed to flip it on.

“Rosewall, between Detroit street and seventh.” Tim clung a little tighter as Dami kicked off and they tore down the street. “There’s a weapons deal going down at midnight. Can we go a little faster?”

“Speed freak,” Dami said fondly, and gunned the engine.

***

Tim edged out along the ledge, and Damian was battling the urge to snatch him back before he fell. Tim was doing everything right, he wasn’t in any danger. Allah, was this how Tim had felt when Damian was nine?

Tim pulled out his camera and Damian held his breath. Tim was going to be fine, he reminded himself. Even without Damian’s tutelage, Father hadn’t caught him until he was nearly eleven. He was _not_ going to fall. Not yet. Not ever, if Damian pulled this off right. This Tim was alive, and Damian was going to keep him that way.

“No flash. It’ll just give you away.” That had been how Tim had gotten caught the first time, years before Damian had even met him.

Tim nodded, and crawled out onto the gargoyle on his belly, feet and elbows bracing him as he went for that perfect shot.

Damian’s brain superimposed the image of Tim at twenty over him, crouched low as he spied on Batman and Robin’s enemies. of the snow-damped stone work, Tim’s old boots with the tread worn away.

No grapple, no line, no backup. Just Tim and twenty stories of air between him and the ground. He dug his foot into a crevice, leaning further outward. He slipped, and he was falling, falling, all the way down-

“ _Dami_ ,” Tim hissed. Damian shook himself. Tim was back on the roof.

“Did you get your photo?” Damian asked. Tim nodded, clinging to his jacket. “How long wasn’t I responding?”

“Only a minute or so.” Tim shivered. “But you were just staring into nothing. It was scary.”

Dami hugged Tim, like Grayson used to hug him. “Just a nightmare I have when I’m awake.”

“Anything I can do?” Tim asked, looking at Damian with wide eyes. Damian smiled at him, and ruffled his hair.

“Just keep breathing, bitty, and I’ll be happy.” That had been the only thing Tim had ever asked of Damian, and was just about the only thing Damian _hadn’t_ asked of Tim. But not this time. This time, he’d do things right.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Better late than never?

Damian held his hand over the lamp, frowning as the light passed through. He was fading. Not much longer now. He wasn't sure if that was good or bad. It meant he'd set things up for a change, but what change he couldn't be certain. Only hope and stack the deck.

He sighed, and pulled on a pair of thin gloves. He'd promised Tim he'd pick him up at eleven tonight.

Using his bike was harder than normal. Sometimes his hands would sink into the handles, and the bike would wobble as he slid in and out of phase.

By the time he got to the Drake's house, he knew he couldn't take Tim out like this. There was no way he would put Tim in that sort of danger.

Tim was waiting by the drive-way, thank god. Damian wasn't sure if he'd like what'd happen if he went out of phase twenty feet in the air.

“Hi, Dami,” Tim said, looking at him a little strangely.

He was really slipping if Tim was worried. “Hey, Timmy. We're going to take the bus tonight, if that's okay?”

Tim nodded and slipped his hand into Damian's. He was apparently tired, since he fell asleep as soon they were on the bus. Damian let him rest until their stop, and shook him awake. They got off in front of the garage where the dumpster was positioned perfectly for accessing the roof. Tim pulled himself up easily. He'd improved so much.

Once they were both on the roof, Tim looked at Damian with a small frown. “Something's wrong, isn't it?”

Damian did his best to smile. For once, could Tim be a little less observant? “A little, yeah, but I knew this was coming. Nothing to be done about it.”

“Are you dying, Dami?” Tim asked, rubbing the hem of his shirt anxiously. Always the hard questions. Tim'd never pulled his punches.

“Yes. Fading, to be accurate. I'm not going to exist pretty soon,” Damian admitted. Tim's eyes went wide, and he threw himself at Damian.

“No! There's got to be something we can do. It's magic, right? We could contact Zantanna, or Jason Blood, or, or -”

He was such a good kid. “Shh, Bitty, breath.” Damian rubbed his back. “I knew this was coming, it's okay.”

“It's really not,” Tim said, voice muffled by how tightly he was clinging to Damian. “I don't want you to go.”

******

Dami was dying, and Tim didn't know what to do. He was the best friend Tim had ever had, the only person he'd been able to share his secret hobby with. He couldn't bare losing him. The time ticked down in his head, one week passing, two, Dami fading into nothingness with each day.

“Chin up, bitty. You'll make new friends, I promise,” Dami said, tucking his leather jacket around Tim's shoulders.

“I don't _want_ new friends, I want you,” Tim said, clutching the jacket close. Dami sighed.

“Sometimes we can't get what we want. Come on, let me show you how to fall properly, we haven't done that yet.” He had a grip on Tim's hand, and tugged him over to the gymnastic mats that lined the studio. Tim swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“Okay, Dami.”

He didn't have as much fun that night as he usually did. Dami wasn't as happy either. Tim bit his lip, and swallowed back a complaint. Dami always did things for a reason. If he wanted Tim to know this, then Tim would learn it for him.

Three hours, two banged knees, and one frustrated crying fit, and Dami pronounced his form 'good enough.' Tim smiled weakly, and clung to Dami's side. His fingers could almost slide through Dami's skin, and the light passed through it like air.

“This is it,” Dami said quietly. Tim nodded.

“I'll miss you a lot.”

Dami slid his fading fingers through Tim's hair. “Just keep breathing, and I'll be happy.”

“I can do that.”

“I know. Goodbye, Bitty.”


End file.
